By herself.

Dark hair.

A chair that accommodates the body of a young woman.

The legs touch.

She wears a split skirt to the knee.

The hands rest in her lap.

The skin is white, opaline.

Intimate... the unrestrained private world.

There, in the environment of a house full of pure poetic, melancholic, I feel the artist.

She consents.

Unchanging, I spy her, watching as she admires what looks at her.

 

Susana Rocha, maintains her identity without the imposition of existing through the affection of the eyes of others. It grows as an artistic subject, dictating everyday objects from beauty and mystery, elevating them to objects of desire.

The artist exhibits a subtle and acute self-portrait, but above all, unsettling. Shapes that learn to be pieces

conditioned by corsets of cold, pointed elements, metamorphosing into new forms.

The judgment of the rigor of the work - in the signs left by the strangulation of the rubber, which shouts out the cry of the flesh ("Spinal" #1 and #2) and the transformation of what changes or mutates in order to survive - is evident, and alies itself to a poetic sense of the world and of memory  (“Love letters”, “We use to”). 

A LOSS OF PURPOSE is a contaminating sigh of an unknown pleasure, for those who are willing to admire it, and allow the audacity to review themselves in this narrative.

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TEXT: EUGENIA GRIFFERO